Boxing Gloves & Pointe Shoes
by sortasupersamm
Summary: After what happened, I absolutely despise him. But then all of a sudden, I'm surrounded by him three-fourths of my day. And I start... Not despising him as much. That's when things start getting tricky. Which, in my experience, is never a good sign.
1. it feels like more than distance

_**Disclaimer: dear fellow readers, I do not own iCarly or those affiliated. yours truly, samm. **_

It was five-thirty in the morning.

**oOo**

The world outside my window was still dark, and I almost groaned when I rolled over to turn off my alarm. But before giving myself the opportunity to oversleep, I kicked my bedsheets off my body and literally rolled off my bed. In the darkness, I felt around my room, trying to reach my closet without tripping. Eventually, I reached the door and flicked on my closet light. Well, more like a flashlight taped to the wall, but it was the same concept.

My window was open, and aside from my curtains flapping as a clear sign, I felt the shivering winter breeze against my skin. _Oh great. _I found my black Adidas duffel bag and unzipped it, digging around for my running shorts and sports bra. I replaced my flimsy Abercrombie t-shirt with the pale pink sports bra, and just pulled the running shorts over my Spanx. I never really wore pants to bed, anyway.

"Where the hell is-" I muttered under my breath, but before I could finish, I found what I was looking for. Plopping down on the floor of my closet, I pulled on my Ugg boots, one of many Christmas gifts from Mikey. Standing up, I pulled a grey Ridgeway Bulldogs sweater over my head and used the light of my closet lamp to put on some mascara and blush.

I shouldered my duffel bag, closed my closet, and felt around for my bedroom door. I could hear my mom sleeping in her room across from mine, and I tiptoed to the kitchen. Of course, I was hungry as hell, so I grabbed a Cliff bar, a bottle of water, and some deli ham. The clock on the microwave said it was five-forty-five, so I turned on my heel and headed for the front door.

**oOo**

"Morning, Miss Puckett," Mr. Delfino greeted as I walked past his corner café during my commute. He was outside, sweeping the corner of the street where his store was. "It's getting' pretty cold, eh? Gonna need more than those shorts."

"Yeah, you're right," I smiled, and then stopped beside him. My eyes were droopy, and the cold air was really getting to me, so I figured I could use a coffee. "But Mr. Delfino, you think you could open for business a little early for me? I need some coffee."

"Sure thing, Miss Puckett," He smiled, then taking a set of keys out of his pocket so he could open the doors to the café. It was nice and heated when he led me inside, and I patiently waited for him to brew a pot of black coffee, load it with skim milk and fake sugar, then a nice long drizzle of caramel, topped off with whip cream and a lid. I handed him ten dollars for the two-dollar coffee.

"Keep the change," I winked at him before I took my coffee and walked back out into the frigid November air. "Goddamn… It's cold…"

Sipping on my coffee, I continued down the street, and after a few blocks, I reached Sixth Street. Blending in with the banks and cafés and more sophisticated buildings that littered Seattle, a plain, fixer-upper office building stood tall and proud in the center of the Sixth Street stretch. It had about ten floors and rented out to everything from dentist offices to workout centers. The lobby inside had access to a bathroom, elevators, and a stair case. A security officer was sitting at the one and only reception desk. Water-stained magazines and institutionalized furniture was arranged to look like a fancy sitting room.

I took the stairs to the second floor, which is where Alton Dance Company was located. There were several doors along the otherwise empty hall, and each one led to a different dance studio. At the very end was an office for the more pencil-pusher aspect of ADC. I went into the third room and found it empty. It was rare for anyone to be here before seven, hence me waking up early. My lips pressed into a smile as I kicked off my boots, pulled off my sweater and shorts, only to be left in my sports bra and Spanx. A true dancer's uniform. I stared at the mirrored wall across from me, and studied myself. Of course, I was small. Small waist, barely five feet tall, thin thighs. Small. Duh.

But it was the nimbleness of my joints, the gracefulness of my limbs, that I really ever paid attention to. It was about what my body could _do_. Some people were born with average bodies and spend years conditioning themselves for the strain of dance, while I was blessed or gifted or whatever with a petite, supple, almost elastic body. Ready to dance, I hooked up my iPhone to the stereo in the corner and pressed 'Play.'

The gentle hum of Ludwig van Beethoven drifted across the room and sweetly filled my ears. I found the rhythm of the music in the pit of my stomach and stretched my right foot out in front of me. On the next downbeat, I launched my left foot behind me and above my head, putting my entire balance and body weight on my single right leg. A confident and serene glow radiated off my body, and I smiled easily.

Feeling my limbs loosening, I released my position gracefully and repeated the same steps on the opposite leg. Most people have a weaker side – left side for right-handed people, right side for the left-handed – but I was lucky to be ambidextrous and have both sides equally strong. Dropping my leg back down, I shook out my limbs and pulled my lush waterfall of blonde curls into a ponytail. Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" was softly fading, a sign that the song was nearing to an end. I used those last few moments to stretch out my arms, my back, stomach, and sides.

The next song played from the iPod stereo, and as quick as a light bulb, yet as fluid as a slow transition, I picked up the pace. My bare feet glided against the smooth, cool wooden floor, and I felt the song inside me. The song mixed with my emotions, and it was a small melting pot within me. The built-up anger I had mixed with the in-your-face notes of Rihanna's "Rude Boy," and my movements more natural and smooth than any well-rehearsed choreography.

Even focusing on my body movements and the pace of the song, I smiled. One of those wholesome, 100% smiles. The kind you only get when you're surrounded by what you love, and you're doing what you love. You know, the true kind of smile

**oOo**

"You're late, Miss Puckett." Ms. Waters informed me when I walked into chemistry ten minutes late, dressed in my _very _classy boots and running shorts. I really had no time to change from my dance clothes to something more normal, but I lost track of time in the studio. I had to rush to class in the first place just to make it before the ten-minute bell.

"Really?" I rolled my eyes, sounding as irritated as possible. "I hadn't noticed."

Instead of writing me up for disrespect or whatever the teachers did when I was a freshman, she shook her head. "Lucky for you, you missed the chance to pick your new lab partners for the rest of the year."

_Dammit. _I scanned the classroom and saw Carly, my best friend and _only _lab partner ever, sitting next to some pretty-boy lacrosse player she'd been eyeing since Halloween. All my classmates and sort-of friends were paired off evenly, so if I was stuck working the rest of the year by myself, I was getting good and ready to shoot myself in the foot.

"But we have one extra person reserved for you," Ms. Waters motioned her fresh-out-of-college hand to the front corner of the room, and of course, there he was. Benson. "So get comfortable with each other, 'cause you better make it work for the next five months."

Freddie fucking Benson.

I hadn't even let that name cross my mind in days. Weeks. Months. Almost for a whole year. I spent a good amount of time avoiding him to the point of being strangers, and before I knew it, I shared a table with him in room 212, and I had something to do with him for the next five months. I dropped my binder and textbook on the table and plopped onto the barstool. Freddie made no attempt to say hello, and neither did I.

I kept silent for the most part, occasionally mouthing a few words of disgust to Carly, and took my class notes like a good little girl. In the corner of my eyes, I saw Freddie working on calculus homework instead of taking paying attention. So that either he was too good for this class and working on tomorrow's assignment, or he never got around to doing it in the first place. Then again, why did I care?

My page was filled with my curvy, glitter green notes on the importance of atomic numbers, and my mind started to get away from me. In my head, I pictured myself, holding in an assisted arabesque before releasing and leaping into a midair-split. I tried to incorporate some sort of jazzy footwork mixed with the precise requirements of Pointe shoes. How am I supposed to do that? If I wanna rip my Achielle's tendon, then making my feet move in a faster, more sloppy way was a good way to start.

Once again, I started looking at the corner of my eyes, drifting away from all thought – whether it'd be chemistry or ballet – and focusing on Freddie with his goddamn homework.

His wrist was flexing as he scribbled numbers on his graph paper, occasionally putting down his pencil to type formulas into his calculator. I went from glancing from the corner of my eyes to turning my head slightly to get a better view. Of Freddie.

One side of me sort of wondered how me and him would be if things didn't happen the way they did. The other, more brash side of me, didn't really wanna think about it. So I went back to circling key words and writing the homework assignment in the margin. First and foremost in my mind was dance choreography, but lingering in the back was Freddie and his stupid homework.

Then the bell rang. I packed up and left before I had no choice but to look Freddie in the eye.

**oOo**

"Maybe you're overreacting," Carly mumbled, folding shirts according to the display map. First the right sleeve, then the left, then horizontally from the back to display the logo or words on the front. I collected the extra hangers and began hanging returned and last-minute rejected articles of clothing. "I mean, when we were picking partners, Freddie just sat there and watched everyone else pair up. Ms. Waters is _not _trying to screw you over."

"Well, why couldn't _you _pair up with him? I mean, _you're _the one who's all buddy-buddy with him still." I said that almost accusingly, and before I could continue with my rant, a preteen redhead was approaching the counter with a handful of t-shirts and her mom. "Hi," I smiled, taking the clothes and starting to ring everything up. "Did you find everything okay?"

"Yeah," The girl said, clearly not up for any interaction with anyone. "Just fine."

As I continued to fold the clothes and put them in a bag, Carly turned to face me. "Look, it's only five months. Maybe it's fate saying you to should…" She was searching for the right words. "Make amends."

"Your total is thirty-two-fifty," I told the mother, taking the credit card and completely ignoring Carly. "Would you like to sign up for an Abercrombie store credit card and save fifteen-percent on today's purchase?" I recited verbatim, just like they trained me when I first got the job last summer. The mom shook her head and I just wrapped up the transaction, handing over the receipt, the card, and the bag. "Have a nice day."

"Quit using customers as a reason to ignore me," Carly pouted, crossing her arms over her pink Abercrombie shirt. It was store requirement to wear head-to-toe merchandise. "But seriously. Freddie's feeling really bad for everything that happened."

"Did he say that?" I continued with hanging the shirts, not even looking up. I took her silence as a no, he didn't say that, but I'm just saying things for the benefit of this used-to-be friendship, so quit being stubborn and be friends with him again, Sam, because I miss hanging out with the both of you at one time. "Exactly."

**oOo**

"Mmm, Sam…" Mikey moaned as he pressed his lips against my neck. My breath hitched in my throat as goosebumps shot down my spine. His hands were cupping my ass and I inhaled, smelling his musky cologne. Our lips met and we sandwiched them frantically at first, then gradually slowed it down to an easy pace. The lights in his room were dimmed and his stereo was playing soft classic rock. My hands were pressed against his firm chest and I could feel his fingers play with the hem of my shirt. I pushed off and looked at him with an anxious smile. He got the message I was sending with my eyes.

Without answering with words, I pulled my shirt up and off my body, leaving me in my white floral bra. My hair was long, stretching down to the bottom of my ribcage, doing a good job of masking my boobs. Mikey joined me by sitting up just enough to pull his own shirt off his tanned, freckled body. This wasn't the first time we were resorted to taking tops off, yet I still found myself drooling over the faint lines of his abs, the wispy blond happy trail that met up with his belly button…

"Sam," He whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind my hair before lowering my head to meet his lips. I felt his tongue brush against my bottom lip and I opened my mouth a little wider to let him in. I could feel a hard heat rise against my waist and I broke away to look down. He noticed and smiled a shy smile. "Do you… You know…"

My heart stopped. This was it. I could feel his fingers starting to fumble with my jeans button before I could even answer. He got it fully unbuttoned and unzipped before I sat up. "Do you, um, think that we're ready?"

"Shh," He hummed, sitting up and pressing my forehead against his, then locking his green eyes with my blue ones. "Sam… I'm ready… We've gotten so far, that this is the next step. And of course, if you don't wanna go this far, we'll stop right now – no pressure. But you know I love you, and I don't wanna just keep telling that to you. I wanna _show _you too."

"But what about pregnancy?" I mumbled, breaking eye contact and looking down at my lap. "Or something? I mean, what if I'm all awkward and inexperienced and… gross?" Mikey had been my boyfriend for half a year, and he had yet to see me fully naked. I winced before saying what I said next. "This is my… My vir- Well… You know… Something I can only give once…"

"You know I'd be here to keep it safe and cherish it forever…" He sighed and I started to feel bad for even second-guessing the whole thing. "And who cares if you're inexperienced? I mean, so am I. I've only done this twice. And both times were awkward and weird. It's normal, and I think it's cute." He smiled and got off his bed, going to the underwear drawer of his dresser. After a few seconds, he pulled out a small foiled package, clearly labeled **Trojan Latex Condom**. He rejoined me on his bed and put me back on his lap. "Besides. I'm prepared, and no matter what, I'll be here to support you…"

"Okay," I swallowed, then smiled, rolling over to remove my jeans completely. "Let's do this."

**oOo**

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," Velma shouted over the music. She clapped her hands over and over in a frustrated manner, almost as if clapping along to the tempo would make the group any better. "Come on, people! The opening show is in two months! One, two, three, four-" She sighed and reached her hand up to close it into a fist. "Stop, stop!"

I was in the middle of a foot grab, so I released my foot and put my hands on my bare hips. Even though this was the third hour of a seemingly eternal dance rehearsal, the radiation off my body made everything so simple, so pleasant. I glowed from the core, all the way through my skin. After that night with Mikey, though, I felt almost completely in tune with _every _aspect of my body.

"What are you smiling about, Samantha?" Velma targeted in on me, and I almost jumped at her voice. I shook my head instead of responding and she motioned for me to step in front of the rest of the group. "Show me how your flexibility is getting."

Weeks ago, Velma came to me with homework to really push myself to the point of being human rubber, and since the day she told me to do so, it was all I've been working on. So I proved to her and to the class that I was capable of bending every which way as needed. She only hummed in semi-approval before waving her hand to the person working the stereo. "Alright Samantha, dance your part. Now."

I gulped. I managed to avoid direct solos in front of the group, but Velma was _the _head of New Dance Company. What she said, went. So as the jazzy intro started, I readied my body in my first position. I jutted out my hips and kept my legs bent as the music carried me into each new set of eight-counts. Head turned this way, foot kicked out that way. I was one of the middle-men, not exactly stuck in the back, but not seasoned enough for a more spotlight role. She yelled at me, reciting my choreography as I danced it, and I gave her each thing she yelled for.

One of my final moves was a leap from one side of the stage, to the other, so I spun to face the direction of my jump just like I always rehearsed, and right on the downbeat, I sprung up onto the ball of my left foot as my right leg led the way. I threw my body back just as Velma specified, and due to my new flexibility, I could feel my thigh and my back touch. I landed on my right foot so barely wobbly, that it was invisible to the untrained eye. But Velma _had _a trained eye, and like I said, what she said, went.

The music stopped and my breath was hitched. She eyed me carefully with her pursed lips. "Beautiful, Samantha. See?" She addressed the rest of the class. "_This_ is what I want from you people! That last leap landed a little shaky, but you will work on that, yes?" I nodded quickly and she stepped closer to me. Her red lips paired with her short black hair made her look _much _younger than she was. They were still pursed, which is probably why she had so many laugh lines already. "Have you been working on your solo audition piece?"

I nodded again and swallowed. "Yes, it's definitely a work in progress."

"Meet me after rehearsal," She said simply, giving me a once-over before going back to the rest of the group. "Alright, from the top!"

**oOo**

Everyone started heading home around nine o'clock, but with my bag shouldered and water bottle in my hand, I met Velma at the front of the studio. She was bent over, copying something from her iPhone into a binder. I didn't want to interrupt her, so I patiently waited to finish what she was going. I stood beside her for almost ten minutes before she stood up and just looked at me. "What?"

"Oh," I was surprised. She _did _tell me to meet her, didn't she? "I'm sorry, but didn't you say to, um, meet you after rehearsal?"

She just looked at me, confused, and started to unzip her pink sweatsuit jacket. I was about to apologize and say nevermind, but then she caught on. "Oh yes, Samantha. About your solo piece."

That was what this was about? "Uh-huh."

Velma bent over to fish something out of her tote bag before giving whatever she found to me. It was a key. "I _really _want you to do well for the auditions, but I can't _tell _you what to do, so here. That is the key to the basement."

I frowned. What would I need this for? She continued explaining to me, as if she heard the question in my head. "The office spaces are closed at ten, and don't open until six in the morning. But the basement isn't leased out to anybody, so it's open twenty-four-seven. So you'll have more than your cramped bedroom to rehearse in."

This was the most generosity I've seen her give, so in a nutshell, I was thankful. I smiled big and started heading for the studio door. "Thank you, Velma. I'll head down there right now."

**oOo**

There was no door or hallway that lead to the basement, just some stairs that ended to the wide, open basement. There were rooms within the basement, but the open stretch was filled with spare chairs and empty filing cabinets. I heard faint hard rock music and yelling muffled behind the doors of one of the rooms, so I figured someone else was down here, but I didn't really care. First and foremost was dance.

I sort of guessed by opening a door, hoping to find it empty. Luckily, I found the room Velma probably used, since there was a mirror, a ballet bar, and a stereo in the corner. The concrete floor was not exactly the wood floor I was used to, but it would get the job done. It was getting late, so I didn't want to waste time. I hooked up my iPhone to the stereo and played my Possible Solos playlist.

My absolute top choice was Marvin Gaye's _Let's Get it On _for my solo piece. It was definitely more of a kinky, sex-driven song, but I wanted to keep things playful and mildly kid-friendly. And, of course, I needed to showcase my flexibility, so I played the music and really let the music blast. I faced away from the mirror and swayed my hips. Then I hit the floor and stood back up, making sure to whip my hair. I went on my hands and pushed into a front handspring, landing gracefully on my butt, then somersaulting onto my feet and getting up with no effort at all.

My hands grabbed my hair as I stared at my reflection and snapped my hips and butt towards the mirror, before releasing my hair. _Very _erotic, yet adorably playful. Then instantly, I fell into a backbend, keeping my legs in a split as I pushed my backbend into a back handspring. I crouched into a crabwalk position, keeping my right leg straight as I made a full circle with my entire limb. Then I threw myself into a downward facing dog and held my left leg above my head, showing how deep I could push my split.

That was all I had so far, and I let the music continue to play as I experimented with new moves and incorporated new styles. I ran and reran the same choreography over and over until it became as simple as breathing. After forty-five minutes, I sat on my butt and listened to the song, sipping on my water bottle.

"You never told me that you could move like that," A voice said. I jumped to my feet and looked at the doorway, which I unknowingly left open the entire time. There was Freddie Benson himself, wearing no shirt, gym shorts, and big, red boxing gloves over his hands. He was slick and shiny from sweat and I only stared at him. _What the fuck?_ He took my shock as my continued silent treatment, so he just stepped in the room and kept talking."I mean, wow. Sam. How did you learn to do all that?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and debated whether just to stare at him or actually say something. Finally, I put my hands on my hips, narrowed my eyes, and took in a sharp breath. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He didn't flinch at my harsh voice, but just held up his hands, showing me his gloves. "This. What're you doing here?"

In the same nonchalant voice he used, I mocked him by motioning all around me. "This."

Time ticked by as we stared at each other, and five minutes passed before he finally gave in. "How've you been lately, Sam?"

"I fucked Mikey," I crossed my arms over my chest and hoped to see some sort of reaction from him. He only pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and leaned against the door frame. So I decided to add more. "And it felt _so _good. Magical."

"Oh really?" He smiled sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. He stepped closer, slowly, step-by-step, until his tall frame was only an inch away from my smaller one. He looked down and met me in the eyes, and I only glowered. I would've pushed him away, but _he _was the one wearing the gloves. Wait, why was he? But before I could really work up some curiosity, he was opening his mouth to speak. "Did you tell him it was your virginity, too?"

"Shut up, Fredward," My arms crossed, I backed away from him, close to tearing up. I could hear the tremble in my voice. "Just… Just shut up."

He didn't. Shut up, I mean. "Or should I tell him the truth?"

"Fuck you," I started to feel tears about to fall down my face, and I rushed away from him, picking up my bag and slipping on my shoes. He blocked my way out the door, and I shoved past him. He stayed where he was, and when I reached the stairs, I turned to look back at him. "Fuck you, Freddie Benson."

"Samantha," He cooed, remaining in the same spot. "That's already been done."

**hahahahaha, Freddie, you douche.**

**hey you guyssss(: miss me? 'cause I sure did miss all of you. and omfg, I bet more than half of you are coming at me with some implement of torture, wanting the next update of that other story I'm doing. Goodness gracious, I don't even know what I named it… but anyway, that'll be up next weekend or the weekend after garunteed. I'm sorry, but sophomore year has been a pain in the ass for me lately. Chemistry is so much fun, but so much homework… ):**

**anyway, about this story. It's gonna be a little more, um, grown up. Don't worry, it's not gonna be f-bombs here, sexual intercourse there,, I'm kicking my own ass to make sure it's a healthy dose of sexy and sweet(: so review it, pleaaaaseee. Please please please?(:**

**i'm halfway done with writing chapter deux, so maybe tomorrow it will be posted. But only if I get a **_**ton **_**of reviews, okay? Like, I'm talking fifteen or twenty(;**

**gotta love bribes, don't youuuu? Ahahahaha (but seriously, I'm not kidding. I will post it **_**tomorrow **_**if I get reviews,, haha)**

**well, that's about it… OH WAIT. All of Sam's choreography is based off of Lauren Froderman from **_**So You Think You Can Dance **_**season seven. She was the winner, and she was amazinggggg. Sam's Marvin Gaye dance routine in this story is a play-by-play of Lauren's audition piece of the same song, so be sure to youtube it, okayyyy?(;**

**love forever and ever,**

**sammypaige(: **

**xoxoxxoxoxooxox**

**p.s., iLost My Mind? Holy crap… I'm posting this in celebration of that… so watch it if you haven't yet and… oh my god… I lost my mind when I watched itttt… hahaha **


	2. i wanna thank you

I didn't tell Carly about what happened with Freddie, because then I'd have to explain why I was in the basement of an office building at eleven at night. I mean, dance was a part of myself I kept secret. It was the most intimate and vulnerable part of me, and it was precious to me. Dance was a whole other world in my life, and when things were going wrong with school or friends or Mikey, I always had dance to secretly turn to. I mean, would you tell all your friends that you were medicated, or had daily trips to a shrink? Well, in my own way, that's how I felt about dance.

"You and Mikey did it!" Carly squealed as she dressed up a mannequin in a navy blue sweater. I only smirked and nodded. "Holy crap! How was it?"'

"It was good," I smiled as I zipped up my white Abercrombie jacket. I was just supposed to be a door greeter – say high, recite ongoing sales, ask if they're looking for anything specific – but business was slow that day due to the Seattle rain. Bitchy teenage girls (the bulk of our clientele) didn't come out in this sort of weather. "I mean, really good."

"Sexy," Carly winked at me, totally jealous. She's been looking for Mr. Right since the eighth grade, and she was way beyond ready to have sex. "Tell me _everything._"

So I bit my lip and described almost every last detail. I was not the kiss-and-tell type, but Carly had been my best friend since kindergarten, so I wasn't afraid to withhold any details. Her eyes widened when I told her about how big he was – big, but not too big. She blushed when I described the feeling of him putting his mouth… down there. I told her about the sounds he made and the way he breathed I love you in my ear over and over. How it hurt a lot at first, but it was ultimately worth it. I did my best to reenact the face I made when I came, which instead of making fun of, she was intrigued by.

"Did you tell him it was your first time?" She asked after a beat of silence. A college guy with big muscles and tattoos with his stick-thin, illegal-looking girlfriend came into the store and I spun the Hi, Welcome to Abercrombie and Fitch crap.

Carly's question was still waiting for an answer so I blinked a few times before turning to her and nodding. "Yeah, I did."

"He's gonna freak if he ever finds out the truth," She warned me, continuing to dress the next mannequin, but into a sundress and winter jacket. I only shrugged. I mean, I've thought about that over and over since the second _virgin _came out of my mouth. "But one last question."

"Go ahead."

"Was he better than Freddie?"

It bugged me how I had to stop and think about that for a second.

**oOo**

During a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I found myself in the basement again, hoping to god that I wouldn't run into Freddie again. But lucky me, Freddie entered the building right behind me, and I tried to ignore him. He passed by me on the stairs to the basement and I was halfway tempted to trip him. He turned to go into the room adjacent to mine, and I really wanted to go in just to see what the hell he was up to. But I forced myself to go to my own room and start warming up.

I barely got through four stretches before I heard hard rock music and loud grunting. Trying to drown out his obnoxiously testosterone-fueled music, I pushed my earphones into my ears, turning up Marvin Gaye as loud as my iPhone would allow. As soon as I felt my body loosen up, I lied down stomach-first on the concrete floor, and started doing push-ups. Up and down, I kept my back straight, stomach tight, and looked forward, just like they taught you in middle school P.E.

Once I hit the forty mark, I started slowing down and controlling my arm muscles to raise me and lower me gently and evenly paced. My dance teachers taught me that when you start more acrobatic dance routines, not only will you need immense arm muscle, but flawless muscle control. As a dancer at my level, actually, you need to have every last fiber in your being under perfect control. My arms started to wobble at one-hundred, my face was starting to flush, and I compromised with myself that a hundred push-ups was a good enough warm-up.

In the three second pause it took my iPhone to loop _Let's Get it On, _I heard that stupid rock music. But the particular song playing was different. It was mellow and almost melancholy sounding. Instinctively, I found the tempo in the song and started swaying with the sad guitar riff. On the next upbeat, I kicked up my right leg, then once it landed back beside me, I rolled onto the ball of my left foot and did a full fouetté. Landing solidly in fourth position, I bent backwards until my head was touching the small of my back. I had no clue what I was dancing, I was just experimenting with whatever song this was. I backed up against the far wall and ran forward a few steps before jumping into the air, flipping around so that I would land on the floor face-down. Once I gracefully and painlessly landed on my stomach, I rolled on my hips so that I was on my butt.

Stretching my legs into a side-to-side split, I leaned forward and stared at my reflection as I crawled towards it. In the song, a drum was hitting in a dramatic, slow pattern, and I nodded my head on each strike of the drum. Then I somersaulted into a hand stand and fell onto my feet, kicking my leg up that way, spinning this way, doing whatever my body commanded to do next.

Then the song was wrapping up to an end and I landed my final grand jeté, similar to the one I had in the routine for Velma, but this time, I landed perfectly without a single hair out of place. Breathing heavily, I wondered what in the hell I just did, and what was the name of the song I just danced to.

Secretly because I wanted to see what Freddie was up to, I decided to go at least ask what song that was so I could maybe build something on top of what I just danced. So barefoot and basically naked – dancer's uniform: sports bra and super-tight, super-short Spanx – I walked across the open part of the basement to the shut door of the room he was in. I knocked, since I had no clue what else to do, but the door wasn't shut all the way, so it pushed open wide so I could see into the room.

It was the exact same size and dimensions as my room, but in the center of the room was a… boxing ring? Surrounding the ring were different weight-lifting machines, a rack of dumbbells, one of those tear-drop shaped punching bags, a regular punching bag, a water cooler, and a chair, holding a stereo system, which was the source of all the obnoxious music.

But beside all the fillings to the room, the one thing I really zoomed in on was Freddie. He was shirtless and sweaty the other night, but I didn't pay all that much attention to what he looked like. But now, my heart dropped. He was in the center of the boxing ring, red gloves laying beside him, doing push-ups. Unlike me, where everything was slow and controlled, he was rapidly pushing up and down, and I could see the defined muscles tightening with every push. He had to have at least done ten with me gawking at him in the span of a few seconds. Then he did something I never tried: one-armed push-ups. Without needing any more effort, he held his right arm behind his back as he lowered on his left arm before snapping it straight up again. I swear, at least ten minutes passed by as I watched a sweaty, muscular Freddie Benson do push-ups.

"I know you're there, Sam," He said in the middle of a push-up, not even looking up to see me. "Enjoying the view?"

"Shut up," I scoffed, stepping into the room, where the smell of sweat was masked with Febreeze air freshener. I tried not to feel awkward about what happened the other night, and so far, I did a pretty good job. "I came with a question."

He stopped his push ups and stood on his feet. "Okay, so what's the question?"

_Holy mother of all that is- _How could I not notice him the other night! He was tall, at least a good nine or ten inches bigger than me, and he was _muscle. _His arms were thick and sculpted, his pecs were hard and defined, and _ohmygod _I lost count on the amount of abs he had. Somewhere along eight or ten. Now, don't get me wrong, he wasn't some sort of body-building beefhead where his muscle was overpowering. He was clearly solid muscle, but it wasn't gross-looking. Mikey was slim and lean with faint six-pack abs and wiry arms, but he was _nothing _compared to Freddie. I couldn't stop staring at him, and that started to bug me. "Um, Sam?"

"Uh, what?" I sort of jumped, blinking back into reality. Freddie was half-smiling, weaving through the ropes of the rings and hopping onto the floor to stand right across from me. Then all of a sudden, I remembered why I was there in the first place. "Oh, yeah. Hey, um, what was that last song you were playing?"

"Oh," He almost looked disappointed for a second, then walked over to his stereo where he checked his iPhone. "This one?"

The hard rock song was interrupted by the notes of the song I was dancing to, and involuntarily, I started swaying to the beat again. "Yeah, this one."

"It's _Dream On_ by Aerosmith," He left the conversation hanging so that I had no choice but to say something more than Thanks and leaving.

"Oh, thanks," I had no clue why, but I started explaining myself to him. "I was just dancing to this and I never heard it before, so I wanted to be sure."

He smiled, but before he could even _think _of a comment or response, I started turning away. Even though _way-y-y-y-y _deep down, I wanted to stay, I had to leave. Despite not really mulling over what happened the other night, it was still hard to talk to Freddie in the first place. I made my smile look forced – which came sort of naturally – as I turned out the door. "I'll see you later."

**oOo**

"Alright you guys," Ms. Waters called out to the class as we all settled into our seats. Carly and her pretty-boy lab partner were scooted closer together than usual and I saw his hand ghost over her bare knee before inching farther under her skirt. I laughed to myself and rolled my eyes before dating my paper and writing the lab header. "Instructions are on the board. Get started."

Freddie handed me a pair of safety goggles and I pulled them carelessly over my hair, which was in a messy bun, so I wasn't trying to preserve my style. Ms. Waters warned us to wear aprons because the lab would stain, but I was wearing a white v-neck, a watercolored scarf, Carly's skinny jeans, and white Keds. I wasn't all that concerned with my outfit to be wearing one of the frumpy, stained class aprons. I noticed Freddie's Greek-god body was almost perfectly concealed underneath his slim Hollister shirt. The sleeves showcased his biceps and triceps and how strong he was, but his chest, abs, and back seemed like your average skinny boy body.

He really grew up since the last time we talked, which was almost six months ago. He clearly got stronger, but he also grew his hair out so that he could gel it up at the front, almost like Edward Cullen or something. His skin was not pasty-pale anymore, which cancelled out his Edward Cullen hair. His face lost all baby-face cuteness and started becoming more masculine and handsome. He grew a good four inches or so, since his height was drastically domineering over my barely five-foot stature. I noticed his heavily calloused hands, which looked hard and strong as he sorted the different chemistry supplies. I remembered when they were soft and gentle hands. All of a sudden, they could be used as weapons. How old was he? Eighteen in January? Wow, a full three months older than me…

"Alright, you gonna get started writing out the lab outline?"

I jumped when he spoke, snapping out of my mental trance, then nodded and began writing down everything Freddie said. He began listing off the supplies in front of us. "A Celsius thermometer, two polystyrene cups, a two-fifty-milliliter-cubed beaker, a fifty-milliliter-cubed burette, a burette stand, one-holed cork, twenty-five-milliliter-cubed pipette, and a pipette safety filler…"

While I scribbled everything down, Ms. Waters came to our lab table and placed the containers of hydrochloric acid and the sodium hydroxide solution in front of us. "Careful," She warned. "The hydrochloric acid is an irritant and the sodium hydroxide is corrosive. Remember the lab safety rule: if you gotta use the emergency shower, we're stripping you down butt-naked in front of everyone."

Freddie and I nodded in understanding, and with that, she walked off to deliver the rest of the chemicals. Freddie was setting up the apparatus as I finished the lab outline, then when I finished, I waited for him to finish, too. I rubbed my hands together and started transferring the sodium hydroxide solution into the polystyrene cup using the pipette. "Twenty-five milliliters, right?"

"Yeah," Freddie mumbled, checking the temperature of the solution with the thermometer. "Everything is looking good."

And we continued on with the lab, mixing various levels of the two chemicals and taking the steadiest temperatures. In the middle of swirling the two chemicals, Freddie clicked his pen and took in a breath the way people do when they're about to say something. "So… How, uh, are you?"

I looked up and raised an eyebrow, then rolled my eyes and got back to the experiment. "Fine, why?"

"You never told me why you're in the basement all the time," He recorded the information of my mixture without even losing a beat. "And how you learned to move like that."

"Well, what's with the Rocky Balboa bullshit?" I muttered, referring to all of his work-out and boxing stuff. "And when did you Photoshop your face onto this muscle-body?"

Ignoring the questions the both of us asked, he changed the subject. "How long has it been since we talked, Sam?"

"Not long enough," I answered without even thinking. I tried to tune him out by focusing on the lab, but I could feel him watching me as I mixed the next ratio of mixtures. Suddenly, I had a heated loss of patience, and I slammed the materials against the lab and turned to him, narrowing my eyes at him. "Look, Benson, I have nothing left to say to you. All that stuff? Behind us. After I request for a new partner, move studios to somewhere else, and stay the hell away from you, we'll be nothing. _No-thing._"

To be honest, if I heard any of this from him, I'd be crushed. But he only breathed shallowly and smirked, picking up his pencil and continuing writing notes. I just stared at him as he filled out his table with the results of my mixture, then once he was done, he looked back up at me. He didn't seem hurt in the least. In fact, he looked… Amused… "What are you doing tomorrow?"

I was surprised. Of all things he could've said, of all ways he could've reacted, that's what I got. What are you doing tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. I worked until closing at eight, then I was probably gonna go to the studio or catch up on homework. I had basically nothing planned. "Hanging out with Mikey."

He nodded, looking interested, but still trying to calculate the curve of the graph we were supposed to make in his head. "Good. I'll pick you up from work at eight."

**oOo**

I had a huge feeling that Carly was behind all of this. How else would've Freddie known that I worked until eight? After this night, I was going to stab her. The rain had cleared up since a few nights ago, so the store was filled with kids hanging out and browsing with nothing better to do on a Friday night. The majority of the sixteen-ers just came in, picked up a few pretty-looking things, smelled the cologne, then left, so I didn't have to deal with ringing that many people up.

"Hang in there," Rachel, my bleach-blonde, anorexic-thin manager came up to me, holding a crumpled-up wad of jeans. "Just fold these, let these last few people finish shopping, then we'll close up."

Nodding, I took the jeans and began folding them one at a time, very neatly and nicely for each one. Then all of a sudden, a medium cup of Jamba Juice with the paper still over the straw was set in front of me. I looked up to see Freddie Benson in the flesh, already working on his own Jamba Juice. He half-smirked, since a full smile still seemed to push things a little bit. "Though you could use this."

I picked it up suspiciously, narrowing my eyes at the cup, then at him. He noticed my hesitance and shrugged. "Fine, don't take it. I'll drink it. _But, _I'm warning you. It is a Strawberry Surf Rider, after all."

After finding out it was the best type of smoothie that Jamba Juice had to offer, I took the paper off and began gulping it down. He just watched and jiggled his car keys in his hand. Sighing, I put down the drink and continued folding. "I never said I was going to go with you."

"_Yeah,_" He scoffed in a told-you-so manner. "But you also didn't say you _weren't _going. So finish what you're doing and let's go."

Rachel, of all moments, walked up to me behind the counter. "Sam, did you scan those-" She stopped and looked at Freddie, then giving him another once-over. "Who's this?"

"Freddie," He stepped in, smiling, offering a hand to her. "Sam's friend-" I silently hissed at him and his use of the term _friend._ "I'm just waiting for her to finish up so we can go."

"Oh really?" She turned to me, putting her armful of clothes on the counter. Her tan looked obviously fake under the dim lighting of the store and I felt a comforting sense of empowerment over her. "Sam, before you go, can I talk to you in the back room?"

"Um, sure," I took my Jamba Juice and followed her to the door hidden behind a curtain. Inside was nothing special, just boxes of new shipments, a mini-fridge, a TV that got three channels, and a foldable card table, complete with shitty seats. As I fished up all my belongings and put them in my oversized tan purse, I looked at Rachel. "What's up?"

"So is," She was fiddling with her name tag hanging around her neck. "Freddie, like, your boyfriend?"

"Um, like," I tried to sound like playfully mocking, but I really meant to imitate her nasally, valley-girl lingo. "No."

"Well, good, because he is the _sexiest_ guy to ever walk in this store, like o-m-g!" My face started to burn and I gripped my Styrofoam smoothie cup a little tighter. "Seriously, we need to put his body on one of the shopping bags or something!" I started to wonder why my stomach felt like it was twisting in knots. "So, is he, like, taken?"

No."Yes."

Her face sunk in disappointment and started to laugh it off. My stomach started to unravel and I instantly felt my face cool down. "Well, do you know who he's taken by?"

No one. "A childhood friend or something."

"Oh well, he wasn't all that hot anyway…" And with that, she dismissed me, letting me clock out earlier than I was scheduled for. Rachel watched as I pulled a light pink cardigan over my ruffled, lacy cream-colored tank-top, all courtesy of, yes, Abercrombie. Then I took my bag, my smoothie, and left work with Freddie.

Yup. With Freddie.

**oOo**

I sat in the passenger seat of Freddie's brand new, tuxedo black Ford F-150 truck, watching the darkened horizon ahead of us as he blazed down the highway. Since we left the store, I hadn't as much muttered a word towards him, and I was still wondering how I even allowed myself to get in his truck. We were already driving for ten minutes and it was only a matter of time before curiosity got the best of me. "So where are we going, exactly?"

He just kept his eyes forward and I studied his profile in the low-lit ambience of his truck. His jaw looked tightened, but his muscles from the neck down were relaxed. He wore a light blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, darkened almost-skinny jeans, and white skater shoes. If I couldn't lie to myself – he looked good. He interrupted my minute-long observations with a quick intake of breath. "Bowling."

Bowling? Really? After our almost year-long silence, this was the best he could come up with? Bowling. I suddenly got reaquainted with my hostility towards him.

"Um," Finally, I pointed out a flaw in his stupid plan. I pointed behind me, looking out the rear-view window of his car. "Seattle Bowl is on Wheeler, and you just passed the exit."

He only laughed under his breath and I contemplated just jumping out of the car and going home. He put his blinker on and we merged into the exit for Campbell Lane, before pulling off the highway altogether and turning right onto West Campbell. On either side of us were grocery stores, Home Depot, Joann's, a few mom 'n pop quick stores, and fast food. At the end of the stretch, there was a locally-owned thrift store, and that's where Freddie pulled into and got out of the car.

"Um, Freddie," I sort of panicked as he unbuckled his seat belt before killing the engine. "What are we doing?"

"We can't go bowling without balls," I could've almost bet that he winked at me, but I only irritatedly fought my way out of the seat belt confining me and hopped out of his car and following him inside. A man at the front counter with a glass display of the more expensive items warned us that there was only ten minutes until closing. Freddie smiled at the man and reassured him, then turned to do the same to me. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite."

I stuck my tongue out at him and he only flicked an eyebrow. "Oh, how I've missed that tongue."

As quick as lightning, I retracted my tongue and slapped him in the upper arm. Hard as rock, that bastard. "Cool it, Sam," He gave a fake-apologetic smirk. "We're in public."

He lead me to the very back of the store where a cardboard box was on its last breath, bound together with various layers of packaging and duct tape. Laying in and around the box were different bowling balls, all engraved with typical fifties' names like Cosmo and Rosie. In fact, those were the names of the first two balls Freddie picked up. One was green and one was yellow, respectively, and he kicked at a deep blue one, telling me to pick that one up. _Felicity._ I smirked at the name and grabbed it, then picking up a scuffed red one named Watson. Freddie held Cosmo and Rosie, then had another orange one named Marcus tucked underneath his right arm. We walked to the front and the man rang up all five bowling balls, coming to a total of thirty-six dollars.

"Sam, reach into my back pocket and grab my wallet," It came out more as a demand than a request, then it registered in my head that I had to get handsy with Freddie in the last area I wanted to be. He noticed my hesitation again and only groaned. "Come on. I gotta pay, then we can get outta here."

Sucking up my pride, I put down Felicity and grabbed his black leather wallet, pulling out his Chase Visa and handing it to the man for him. The man at the counter slid it in the scanner, typed a few things and handed over the keypad to punch in the pin code. Before Freddie could put down the bowling balls, I just rolled my eyes and typed in Freddie's four-digit password. Nine-eight-six-two. Enter.

"Thank you," The man smiled at me and handed me the card and receipt, and I took his offered pen to sign it. After everything was situated, I picked up Felicity and Watson and held open the door for Freddie. The man waved us off with a grin. "Beautiful young couple!"

Deciding against of correcting him, I followed Freddie to the bed of the truck and unloaded Felicity and Watson behind Cosmo, Rosie, and Marcus. Freddie pushed the truck rail back into place and we got inside. It was eight-forty-five and Freddie just smirked before backing out of the parking lot.

I had a missed call from Mikey, but I just ignored it and got situated into the passenger's seat of Freddie's truck.

**oOo**

Freddie pulled up in front of a small, yellow house with a white picket fence and a silver Volkswagon Bug in the driveway. I had no clue where we are, but on Oklahoma Drive in front of a 2146 residency. The lights were off in the house and all the curtains looked to be drawn. He killed the engine and drummed on the steering wheel. "Welcome to Lucy Waters' house."

My mouth almost dropped, then I turned to get a better look at the adorable little house that belonged to our twenty-something chemistry teacher. "What the hell are we doing here?"

"Bowling," He smiled for an instant before letting it drop back into a straight face. "Now, go take one of the balls – ladies' choice – and go put it on Lucy's porch."

I just looked at him. "I am _not _doing that."

Next thing I knew, I was sprinting across the perfectly manicured lawn, still damp from sprinklers, holding Watson in my arms. My Rainbow flip-flops weren't exactly marathon-running material, so I kept stumbling as I reached the very front door. The beating in my chest was loud and caused even more wind to be knocked out of me. Hoping to god that the door wouldn't open or the lights wouldn't flicker on, I placed Watson on the Welcome Home mat, three-hole and name engraving facing the front door. As soon as Watson was situated, I kissed it good-bye and booked it back towards the car. I literally jumped into the seat and gasped for air. "Drive, _drive!_"

Freddie only rolled his eyes and laughed, then took his time pulling his car out of park and driving forward. We still had four balls and I had absolutely no idea what Freddie was planning. "What about the rest of the balls?"

"What about 'em?" He only shrugged, skipping a stop sign, since it was nearly ten o'clock in a sleepy part of town.

"Well, what are we going to _do _with them?"

"Know who to do next?" I started to think of some name, some person, to place Cosmo on, but I got nowhere. It didn't really matter anyway, because Freddie drove us to the next house. It took about five minutes and we stopped in front of a brick house with a handful of motorcycles in the driveway.

Freddie turned to me and I shook my head. "No, you're getting this one."

He blinked at me with a half-assed disappointed look, then dramatically got out of the car. I watched him pull Rosie from the bed and nonchalantly cross the lawn to the front walkway that lead to the porch. He scrouched down and held the ball as if he were really going to toss it like a bowler, then he lined himself up, walked through the steps, and gently released the ball to roll up the walkway and gently stop beneath the door. Hands in his pockets, Freddie rejoined me in the truck and shrugged, totally chill. "Strike."

"Why are we doing this?" I asked him, feeling the vibration of another incoming call come from my purse. I still ignored it and waited for Freddie to answer. "Who's house was that?"

"Because bowling in an alley sucks," He finally said, driving off. "And I don't know."

**oOo**

"Well, I had fun," I answered truthfully, my hand not instantly reaching for the door handle, like I'd predicted. "Not exactly what I expected."

We delivered the last balls to random houses we picked out from the White Pages, but Cosmo was left for the waitress at Denny's when he bought midnight dinner for the both of us. Amazed and thankful, I was happy that we went through the _entire _night without the mention of what every happened in the past, Mikey, or anything. It was all just… Fun. Plain and simply.

"I try," He smiled and I felt myself smiling back. "So chemistry Monday?"

"Yeah," I felt so damn temped to lean in and kiss him sweetly on the cheek, but even though it was fun with him, my instincts felt a little uneasy still. "I hope so."

"Good night, Samantha." Freddie reached his calloused hand out and brushed a piece of my blonde hair out of my eyes. I smirked and turned to get out of the car, feeling conflicted about his gesture.

Before I shut the door, I smiled again, a lot more subtly this time. "Goodnight, Freddie."

I walked up the cobblestone path to my front door, not looking back until my hand was on the door handle, and when I did, Freddie was still waiting in his truck. It wasn't until I waved at him and reassured him that I was safe that he drove off. On the wicker loveseat right in front of my large living room winder was a pale purple ball, named Samantha. I smiled and picked up the ball, carrying it inside the house and putting it on the floor by the front door. I heard no noise coming from any part of the house, so I figured my mom was out on the town with her friends or whatever. All that was on my mind was a bubble bath, the night with Freddie – admittedly, and sleep, since it was rounding out to be one o'clock. I could see the lights in my room were on, and I figured I just left them of when I left for work earlier.

But when I turned the knob on my door, there sat Mikey on my bed, arms crossed, as if he was waiting for me. I gasped at his sight, completely scared shitless. I let out a small squeal and dumbly laughed under my breath, but instantly shut up when I looked at him in the eye. His face was hardened with rage and his jaw was set with anger, while his eyes narrowed with a glint of… Jealously? Before I could say hello or anything, he stood up and ripped my purse from my hands and threw it on the floor. I flinched at his roughness and he shoved me against my door, roughly digging his fingers into my shoulders.

I closed my eyes and winced as he put his face inches from mine. All I could feel was the rush of blood to my head and his harsh grip around my shoulders. All I smelled was a small hint of booze and the sweaty cologne mix he was wearing. All I heard was his heavy breathing. I whimpered a little, but he hardened his grip. "Mikey, you're hurting-"

"Where the fuck have you been?"

**And that's where I'ma end it(: (originally, I was gonna cut out **_**all **_**of what happens after that second-to-last oOo-thingy right before Lucy Waters' house and save it for chapter three…)**

**Hahahahaha, so how about that somebody should submit this chapter entry to guinness world records or something because this broke damn records. A five-thousand-something-word chapter written in one sitting in the span of two hours. And after a groundbreaking **_**day **_**after I submitted the previous chapter.**

**y'all, i'm superhuman. **

**ahaha, but seriously, a deal's a deal. I got sixteen reviews last time I checked, so I promised I'd post chapter two the same day. Lucky bastards, ahahaha;) and by the way, the only way writing this was possible was because my teachers gifted my the greatest present by giving no homework. Um, thank you to all my teachers?(:**

**naaaahhh, anyway, it's totally cool(: I liked writing this, and I'm already piecing together next chapter, so maybe you'll get a few new chapters by the end of the week. Maybeeee,, but that doesn't mean review less. Seriously, reviews are what keep me going, so don't be a jerk(;**

**oh, I've been given a few compliments about writing sam's dance routines. Um, thanks?(: if you haven't read the twenty unknown facts about me on my profile, then you probably didn't know that I have nine years of ballet training, and have been studying en pointe for six of them. And I have experience in tap, modern, and just about everything. Oh, and I'm a varsity cheerleader… So all this writing about dance junk is purely me(:**

**anyway, I'ma hop in the shower and get into bed because it is nearly ten-thirty here and I have school tomorrow,, so goodnight, review, and I love you **

**oxoxoxxxoxoxooox,**

**SammyPaige(:**


	3. you take that to new extremes

I woke up to another bleak, frigid morning at the ungodly hour of six-thirty. Ever since I got the basement to dance in, I never really bothered waking up early to get to the studio before others. My bed was too snug and toasty to leave, so even though I showered the night before, a hot shower again was the only motivation I had to get out of bed.

So after ten minutes of internally battling falling back to sleep, I pushed myself off my bed and tiptoed to my bedroom door in the darkness, silently slipping into the hallway, and the door next to mine was my bathroom. My mother had her own master bathroom in her own room, and since I was an only child, I never had to share much.

My father is Mark Puckett, one of the city's most sought-after defense attorneys. And since Seattle, Washington is a pretty big city, that's saying something. He and my mom had me when they were fifteen, so they're both pretty young, and obviously divorced. Not that I minded, I mean, my dad was generous with his money with my mother and me, they both are pretty civil when interacting, and all that other shit that is considered an ideal divorce.

But like I said, he's a lawyer, so my father is pretty sly and deceiving when it comes to defending a case, but when it comes to his own family, he was pretty quick to drop a good two-hundred-thousand on the house I lived in. It was a two-story tudor-style home, complete with brick walls contrasting with white-wall finishes, a green front yard, big windows, and every room was spacious, including my own bathroom.

The floors were marble, matching with the tub, shower, and counter. Hanging above my toilet was a wicker cabinet filled with my entire make-up collection that Carly and me spent forever compiling, my bathtub sat directly below a large window overlooking the backyard, and my mother hired an interior decorator to coordinate my bathroom to be on one color palate of seafoam green. I hobbled across the heated floors and turned on the hot water, as far as it would go, pulled my long-sleeve Abercrombie shirt over my head, stepped out of my underwear, and hopped in the shower, relaxing as the stream of boiling-hot water warmed my skin.

I could've stayed in the heat all day, but after minutes of just standing in one place, I lathered up soap and shampoo, getting clean and rinsing off. Turning off the water, I reached past the shower curtain and grabbed my plush towel off the towel rack, drying my hair first, then my body, then flipped my hair upside down to roll it up in the towel. The mirrors were fogged up, so I wiped away the fog to brush my teeth, and I couldn't help but examine myself.

My eyes went straight to my left arm and I sighed. A bluish-blackish handprint was imprinted into my flesh, right where Mikey grabbed me last night. I pressed my finger against it and winced when I found out how tender it still was. I contemplated for a second what to do, then decided to take concealer out of my make-up cabinet, dab a little bit on a sponge wedge, and press it against the blemish, rubbing and blending in the make-up until I barely saw the bruise. I grabbed pressed powder and set the make-up gingerly, to make sure it would stay concealed all day.

Backing away from the mirror, I examined it from a farther distance and at different angles, adding a teensy bit more make-up here and there until it was completely gone. I took the towel and unwrapped it from my hair and tightened it around my torso, sneaking back into my room. It was seven in the morning on Saturday, so I decided to grab some breakfast and head out to go dance more. Even though I hid the bruise from view, I wanted to play it safe by sticking to sweaters and long sleeves, only exposing my arms when I was dancing alone.

I balanced my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I ran a wide-tooth comb through my damp curls. It rang four times before Carly picked up. Her voice was strained and groggy. "H-Hello?"

"Hey, Carls," I switched my phone to my other ear and got to work on another knot on the base of my neck. "You up for some breakfast?"

"Um," She yawned and let out a long breath, the way she did when she stretched. "I have a yoga class at nine, but we can get something. You wanna come with me to yoga?"

"Sure," I figured the class would help with my flexibility, and it would be a good warm-up to the dance rehearsal I had at two. "Stop by in twenty?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna throw on some clothes," I heard dresser drawers opening and shutting from her side of the phone call. "Do you have a yoga mat, or do you want me to bring you an extra?"

"No, yoga's new to me," I put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the bed as I pulled a baby-blue long-sleeve t-shirt that I got from a 12K Fun Run sophmore year over my head. "So if it's cool."

"Okay, cool," Keys jingled on her side and a few doors opened and shut. She whispered something to someone, then another door shut and her voice was audible. "I just told Spencer I'm heading out, so give me ten minutes."

Carly lived in a upper-class apartment complex downtown, which was a few blocks from my neighborhood on the outskirts of urban Seattle. "Sounds good to me. See ya in a few."

I tapped the end call button and sifted around my drawer for a pair of shorts. I settled on an old gray pair of short-shorts I cut off from a pair of sweat pants and slipped them on, then stepped into my Rainbow flip-flops, grabbing my purse and tying my pointé shoes to an inside strap. I tried to keep it buried underneath the rest of the things in my purse, making sure Carly wouldn't notice it. If she saw the pointé shoes, there'd be questions asked, I'd have to do some explaining, and dance was the most intimate, private part of me, and I wanted to keep it separate from every other aspect of my life.

Opening my door and walking down the hallway into the kitchen, there stood my mother at the island, typing away on her laptop, steam emitting from the pale green coffee mug beside her. She was, supposedly, my twin, both of us petite, blonde, and in her case, beautiful. She typed away on her keyboard, her black-rimmed glasses perched on her straight nose, her almost white-blonde hair in a messy bun, and she barely looked up to see me. "Morning, Samantha. You're up early."

"Carly and me are going to breakfast, then yoga," I put my purse on one of the barstools, looking at my mom's blue eyes narrow at the computer screen. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," She finished typing something before closing the laptop and looking at me. "The museum is just holding a party for the opening of the new space and astronomy exhibit, and yours truly was put in charge of hosting the whole thing."

"Nice momma," I laughed, watching her stressed and frazzled face. "When's the party?"

"In three weeks," She let out a sigh and sipped her drink from her mug. "So I have to coordinate invitations, entertainment, press, decorations, catering, and-" Instead of adding something else to her to-do list, she let out an exasperated grunt. She turned to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, and unhooked a skillet from the rack hanging above the stove. "Sorry, just stressed. Since you're going out, I'm gonna stay home and make my own breakfast. Maybe try to regain control over my own sanity."

"Okay," I smiled, tapping my fingertips against the granite countertop. "I have rehearsal at two, then a quick shift from from six to closing again, so I'll be home later tonight."

She frowned at me slightly, cracking an egg into the pan. "You know you really don't have to work that job. Your father and I have plenty enough to provide for you and your imaginary ten brothers and sisters."

"I know, I know," Carly and I really didn't need the money, the job just gave us something extra to do. Plus, the discounts on purchases and the amount of people we randomly met through that job were worth it. "But it's mostly for fun, plus it looks good on college resumes."

"Right," She reluctantly agreed, taking a spatula to poke at her sizzling eggs. "So, anyway, how are you and Mikey?"

I bit my lip and sort of brushed my hand against the place where my sleeve was covering the bruise. I didn't want to lie to my mom, but I didn't want have to explain what happened last night. By some grace of God, however, there was a knock at the door. With no need to be answered, the door opened and Carly herself came into the kitchen, wearing a purple tank-top and black yoga pants. "Hey Sam, hey Ms. Puckett."

"Good morning, Carly," My mom pulled a white square plate from a cabinet, putting it on the counter next to the stove. "How are you?"

"Fine," Carly had her keys in her hand, ready to get going. I stood up, shouldering my purse, and started walking towards the front door. Carly smiled at my mother before turning on her heel. "We'll talk later, bye!"

"Bye momma," I shouted from the front door, closing it behind me and then followed Carly to her hybrid silver Prius. "So, Sunny's Place?"

**oOo**

Carly sat across from me in a booth in the back of Sunny's Place, a locally owned café that specialized in breakfast, lunch, and all things brunch. I didn't even bother to look at the menu, already knowing I wanted the green eggs and ham. Carly knew this and smiled, "Sam-I-Am wants green eggs and ham? What a shocker."

I only smirked, sipping on my glass of orange juice that the waiter already dropped off. Carly indecisively flipped through the menu again and again. I internally laughed at this, since she _always _couldn't make up her mind, then _always _ended up ordering the same thing since eighth grade. "I think I'm gonna get the egg in a basket."

"Same thing since always," I nodded, poking fun at her weird habits. She stuck her tongue at me and placed her menu on the edge of the table. I narrowed my eyes gently at her knowing face, already picking up on what she was thinking. "By the way, thanks for last night."

"What?" She faked innocence, smiling wide and holding back a giggle. "You and Freddie? What makes you think I had something to do with it?"

"Well, for one," I leaned forward, holding up a finger to tally off my proof of her involvement. "He knew my work schedule, something only a _fellow employee _would know, really."

She finally gave up and let out her laugh, her cheeks turning pink in the process. "So, who cares? You and Freddie have a lot of unresolved tension, and I'd figure I'd take the first step on both parts to get the friendship ball rolling."

"Well, whatever," I rolled my eyes, not even all that mad. I knew it was her from the start, and she only had good intentions. Besides, hanging out with Freddie was fun, if not anything else. "Thanks, I guess."

"Your welcome," She answered, almost dignified. There was a beat of silence before she anxiously leaned over the table and smiled wide-eyed. "So how'd it go? What'd you guys do?"

"Well, for one, Rachel pulled me aside before I left to tell me how gorgeous Freddie was."

"_What_!" Carly's mouth dropped and she laughed loudly, but not too loudly to attract attention. "So, like, Rachel's into him?"

"Uh-huh, she was asking him if he was single and all this bs," I laughed along with Carly, especially laughing at the fact that someone found Freddie attractive. "It was ridiculous."

"Well, besides that," She came down from her laughter, taking a breath inward. "What'd you guys do?"

"Went bowling," I answered, rather cut-and-dry. All in all, that was all it was, but I also felt sort of… protective of what happened. Spending that night with him reminded me of all those times before. "Hung out, you know, just whatever."

"Whatever?" Carly picked up on my lack of enthusiasm on my last word. She stared at me with a skeptical smirk.

"Yes," I answered dryly, sipping on my juice, looking down at the placemat below me. "Whatever."

"In Sam's language," She rolled her eyes, picking up her menu to flip through it again. "Whatever means 'Carly's onto something, but I don't want her to know it.'"

**oOo**

"You're going to love Hannah," Carly swore to me, laying her mat out in the second row of the class. I took the mat she let me borrow, pale pink and a sort of squishy material, and unrolled it to be parallel to hers. "She may be on the older side, but she knows her stuff – a total yoga guru."

"Right," I nodded, scanning the decently-sized studio room. The class was at the local YMCA, held in one of the rentable offices. While the bulk of the class was college girls trying to seem hipster and laid-back, a few feminine guys were scattered here and there, preparing their organic mats and sipping from their Smartwater water bottles. Suddenly, it hit me that the likeliness of me running into my dancing friends was pretty good, and I was hoping that I wouldn't have to deal with it. "So, are you working tonight's shift?"

"No," Carly was sitting on her butt, legs out striaight in front of her, as she attempted to reach for her toes. "I called out so that I can go shopping today."

I watched her, holding back a burst of laughter as I watched her barely touch her forehead to her knees. "Are you seriously pre-stretching for an exercise that specializes in, um, _stretching?_" Carly laughed along under her breath before flashing me the middle finger. I sat criss-crossed on my mat beside her and stretched out my arms. "Anyway, you have the biggest closet I've seen in my life. Why do you need to take a day off to go shopping for _more _clothes?"

"You know my lab parter, right? Austin Rodgers?" The pretty-boy blond on the lacrosse team, complete with chemically-achieved highlights, steroid-induced physique, and cookie-cutter frat boy wannabe? Also known as the guy of Carly's dreams. I nodded to her to continue, and I swore I saw a blush dust across her cheeks and perfectly button nose. "Well, he's throwing this thrasher for Christmas. Like, we're talking all-out rager."

I nodded to Carly's plans, not even all that interested. Austin Rodgers' parents were soap opera actors, completely famous to the audience of daytime dramas. He was completely rich, and since he was freshly eighteen, he was also unsupervised _all _the time, due to the fact his parents were always in Canada for filming and weren't legally obligated to hire a babysitter. While Carly is sort of a veteran to his parties, I've only heard things. Things along the lines of table-dancing topless, skinny dipping, kegs upon kegs upon kegs, live bands that were _hot _on the underground Seattle scene, college kids having orgies in random rooms, and all in all, it was insane. Carly always invited me to the next one, but I never was set on being in that scene.

Jumping me out of my thought, the door to the room shut, and in walked a woman, who you could tell was aging, but her body was about as good as they came. Her hair was light brown, on the territory of being grey, and she was tall, lithe, elegant-looking, with a once-beautiful face. "Well, hello, hello," She was all-smiles, making her way to the front of the class, sitting down on an already-made mat. She glanced across the room, locking eyes with me for a moment, then looking down at her lap. "I see we have a few new faces, and I just wanted to say that you all are welcome here happily and warmly," She sat with her legs in that meditation position, where it looked criss-crossed, but both feet were on top of each thigh. "Now, let's all start with basic breathing and the beginner positions. Today, I'm feeling adventurous, so we're going to learn some _much _more advanced poses."

I glanced over at Carly, hoping to make some sort of witty comment, but her eyes were closed, brows furrowed, looking completely focused. So I just shut up as Hannah lead us in proper in-and-out breathing exercises, walked around the class to adjust our downward-facing-dog poses, and helped some of the less-coordinated – aka, Carly – students balance evenly enough to hold the tree position. Hannah was adjusting the foot placement with Carly, and I just held my pose tall and strong.

My hands reached over my head, my hands pressed together, my entire chest feeling tight as I jutted it forward while my back arched, which put my butt completely sticking away. All in all, my body took the shape of an _S _when you looked at it from the side. My left foot was against my thigh as far up as it could go, my supporting right leg not even quivering. Carly looked at me with narrow, jealous, and somewhat surprised eyes, and I could merely work up a smirk. This pose was merely juvenile work compared to some of the dance conditioning I had to push myself through.

Hannah apparently noticed my ease against the rest of the class strugglers. She smiled at me, yet I could tell she wanted to push my limits as far as they would go. With every dance teacher or choreographer I had, currently have, and will have, the need to push the dancer to their limits was a common trait. She was a yoga teacher, not Velma, so my intimidation level was pretty low. She continued to stare me down as I pushed my pose even farther, keeping no sign of struggle plastered on my face. "Well," She finally spoke, peacefully yet at the same time, her voice was patronizing. "Looks like we have a potential guru today," She motioned at me, working her way to the front of the class and onto her mat. "I'm curious as to where this will go."

Carly nudged me, asking me where in the hell I got so flexible in silence. I shrugged, tuning back into Hannah's instruction. "This is called the Maha Natarajasana," She raised her left leg behind her, reaching her arms behind her head to grab her left ankle and pull it up so that it was perpendicular to her head. She looked up to the ceiling, both hands having a firm grip on her ankle. There was a good two-foot gap between her foot and the back of her head, and I could tell that she was already pushing the position as far as it would go. In normal dance terms, this position was called the scorpion, which I successfully hit when I was twelve. When Hannah released the position, she turned to me, hands on her hips, and smiled. "Do you wanna give it a try?"

"Um," I shrugged, raising my foot to my head. "Sure." As simple as blinking, I exerted the most simple dance position there was. I completed that two-foot gap that Hannah was missing, and my Maha-whatever was long, lean, and above all else, sturdy. Hannah noticed and applauded my pose.

"Nice work. But, let's try something new. How about the Ekopada Dhanurasana?" I watched as she went down on her back, raising up into a backwards arch. Her hands and feet were firmly planted on the mat, then raised her right leg to be at a perfect ninety-degree angle to the floor. It was a simple backbend with the beginning steps into a full backwards flip. Nothing too extreme. So when Hannah came up out of the pose, and motioned for me to try, I skipped the laying down step and bent backwards straight onto my hands. Without even trying, I raised my leg and held the pose, not releasing until Hannah seemed to accept the fact I was doing all her hardest poses without even trying.

She continued to make me mimic whatever balance pose she threw at me, and for the most part, I mirrored each one easily without any effort. But before I knew it, the hour ended and Hannah eased off my case, having everyone sit down and meditate as a cool-down. "Sam," Carly leaned over and whispered harshly. "Where in the _hell _did you learn all this stuff?"

I laughed under my breath. Flexible naturally would be a good excuse, right? "I dunno, I've always been this flexible, I guess," By the look of Carly's face, she bought it, and I wanted to just leave it at that. The class seemed to wrap up, and I was glad to get out of there. I wanted the basement of the studio. None of this posey crap. I wanted to dance.

"You should tell Freddie you're this flexible," Carly giggled, and I tried to resist the urge to smack my palm against my forehead. "He'd have a field day with the things a flexible girl could do."

**oOo**

I sat on the concrete floor of the basement, sliding my foot into my pointé shoe. After yoga, I slipped tights on under my shorts, giving my legs a pale sheer. I pulled the ribbons up, then crossed them over and wrapped them around my ankles tightly until there was just enough to make a good knot. I tucked the knot into the layers of the ribbon, making everything look seamless. My pointé shoes were slowly wearing down, making this my longest-wearing pair of Grishko pointé shoes I had ever owned, already reaching its nine-month birthday. The pale pink satin had dark scuffs at the tips, but I didn't have enough balls to dye them clean on my own. I didn't even trust a cobbler with my babies like that.

After both shoes were secure on my feet, I stood up and grabbed the barré with my hand, stretching out the shank and having my feet mold to the shoe, as if it were my second skin. I placed my ankle gracefully on the barré, my posture unshakeable, and reached for my leg, keeping my neck long and my arms loose. After that yoga class, I felt like stretching and warming up wouldn't be that much of a need, so I jumped right in. Running through the five positions and doing relevés without ceremony, I felt energized enough to jump right in. Walking to the center of the room on my one-fifty-degree turn-out, I rose up into a basic pirouette, going three revolutions before landing perfectly into fourth position. Fouettés were one of my personal favorite things to do, so I attempted yet again at thirty-two fouettés en tournant. I found a point ahead on the wall, in this case it was the reflection of my face, to minimize dizziness, spun up onto my pointé, and whipped my legs around, rotating again and again, keeping my posture completely linear. I inhaled for a spin, exhaled on the next one, keeping everything even and clean.

The stereo played Ludwig van Beethoven, _Turkish March_, and I rose onto pointé with every down beat, alternating into a Pas de bourrée. Following the routine, barely keeping up with the choreography, I pushed myself to keep up with the speed, yet remain completely accurate and in control. While I focused on modern and contemporary, I just peaked at the highest level of ballet that my company could offer. I was the baby of that section, so I had a shit ton of _pas_, or steps, to learn. I pushed myself harder, feeling the rumble of Beethoven's orchestra in the pit of my stomach. One of the moves I was required to do was a jeté, nothing out of ordinary, except that I had to land en pointé, then roll off my demi pointé. I held my arms and chest _ouverte_, coming into a pirouette, landing into fourth, which lined me up flawlessly for my jeté.

I sprung off the front-half of my left shank, going airborne and holding my right leg straight in front of me, pressing my back against my _derriere _leg, and suddenly, I felt my entire body weight meet up with gravity, and my entire right pointé shattered. I felt a crack and an unthinkable pain was radiating off my big toe. I already knew it was a split toenail, but the pain was _horrible. _Maybe I just didn't have a high pain tolerance, but I let out a _scream, _followed by a loud and drawn-out _fuck._

I fell onto the floor, untying my pointé shoe, hoping to bandage it up before I had no choice but to peel off my entire toenail. I was still wincing and screaming, since I was the only one down here, let alone in the building on a Saturday. By the time I had the pointé shoe off, the door to my room burst open, and there stood Freddie, all sweaty and panting, wearing no shirt. He saw me on the floor, wincing and a fair amount of blood on my feet. So much for being the only one here.

"Oh my god, Sam," He rushed to my side, attempting to reach out for my feet, but stopping himself. "What happened to your foot!"

"I cracked a toenail," My teeth gritted as I pulled the shoe entirely off. I had never cracked one before, so I had no clue what to do. Other pointé shoe dancers had, and I saw them simply wrap gauze around the toe tightly, take a painkiller, then get right back up. So I figured that's all that was to it. "No big deal."

"Is there any way I can help?" He looked completely horrified at the sight of a bloody toenail and I couldn't help but smile through my pain a little bit.

"Yeah, actually," I remembered that I had no first-aid kit in the room, and since he was playing Rocky in his room, I figured he would have something. "Help me up so I can get some gauze on this."

"Sure thing," He rose to his feet, towering over me as he lent me a hand, helping me onto my left foot as I hobbled behind him into his room. The smell of sweat and testosterone hit me in the face almost instantly. "Go sit on the ring while I go get you the kit."

I weaved my way through the three ropes of the ring and sat in the middle, the pain in my toe dying down to an irritating throb. Freddie dug around his bag and came up with a first aid kit, which looked to be anything but brand new. As if a professional, he pulled out a narrow roll of gauze, specifically designed for fingers and toes, and reached for my foot, gingerly wrapping my booboo into the gauze tightly and securely. His eyes were narrow with focus, and I saw his brows furrow. His lips were in a soft line, and I could see a light dust of freckles across his tan, sweaty skin. I took a sharp breath at the sudden pain in my toe. While he worked on my injury, I looked around the room, then back to his concentrated face. "So what do you do in here, exactly? Boxing, or something, right?"

He let out a breath and tore off the gauze from the roll, wrapping the end securely around my toe one last time. "Nothing, really."

A pang of hurt hit me, way deep down. It was obvious that nothing was anything but whatever he did in here, and I wondered why he felt like I didn't need to know. I mean, he knew about me dancing. Sure, he didn't know the details, but he at least knew. "Nothing? C'mon Fred, tell me."

Dropping my foot against the floor of the ring, I saw his jaw tighten. He flexed his hand, whose knuckles were wrapped in fabric, then closed it into a fist. Since the moment I met him, I always could tell when I hit a nerve with him, just like this moment. "Sam," He met eyes with me, his voice calm. "It's nothing. Leave it at that."

That weird feeling in my stomach came back, and it felt wrong that I was getting shut down by Freddie so simply. Internally, though, I wanted to find out what was up, and I was going to figure it out one way or another.

**oOo**

"There's my beautiful girl," Mikey's shaggy hair was brushed nicely and he wore a button-down plaid shirt, ironed out to a crisp, almost as if he spent the entire previous night preparing for this. In one hand was a bouquet of a dozen roses, each one a beautiful shade of velvet red, the feminine smell radiating off the collection, and in the other hand was a generously-sized box of gourmet chocolates. I stood in the archway of my front door, eyebrow raised, unsure of how to react. "I love you, Sammy."

I stood there, keeping the weight off my bum toe, and stared hard into Mikey's eyes. He kept his smile gentle and voice cheerful, but his angered demeanor from that Friday night was still in the front of my mind. He noticed my hesitance, because, after all, it was the elephant in the room. He stepped closer to me, putting the roses and chocolate in my hand, pressing his lips against my forehead. "Sam, Sammy, Samantha… I love you, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry and you know I would never do anything to hurt you, baby. You're my girlfriend, the only one I love, the one thing I need, and I'm sorry. I'll never act the way I did again, and I'll make it up to you, no matter what it takes, I'm sorry."

His monologue ended with heavy sighs, and my eyes blinked with tears, only to match with my clouded head. My throat was tight and it hurt to swallow. The roses and chocolate dropped to the floor before I sprung my arms around his neck and releasing my confused tears into his chest. "I love you, too, and I'm sorry."

"Shh," His hand stroked the back of my head, his fingers gently tugging through my hair. His other arm wrapped around my waist, his hand resting on the small of my back. "Don't be sorry, Sammy. It was all me."

And as he held me on the front porch of my house, repeating his wrong-doing, I held him, too, sniffling into his chest, his apology making my heart sink, I thought about Freddie. In the middle of my confusion of Mikey, the thought of him hurting me like that again, the denial of thinking he's the perfect guy everyone saw, the throbbing in my foot, I thought about Freddie. Freddie and his reluctance to tell me about him, Freddie and how he saw more of me than my best friend and boyfriend combined, Freddie and how he does calculus homework in chemistry and how it bugs me that I don't know why he does and how it bugs me even more how I actually care about what he does in class, Freddie and the fact that when I was in my boyfriend's arms, I was thinking about him, Freddie and the fact I couldn't stop thinking about him…

**oOo**

"Alrighty," Ms. Waters stood at the front of her class, shuffling papers on top of her podium. I sat at my place, opening up my notebook to the last set of notes I took, using my free hand to munch on a green apple. Freddie's seat beside me was empty, and I couldn't help to wonder why he was absent for the third day in a row. "I finished grading the papers from the last lab we had, and overall, the grades were good. Which is perfect, since we're going to continue to build off of acids and bases in today's experiment. So, with your partners, get started," She placed a stack of yellow papers inpage protectors on Jenna Meyer's table. "And Jenna, here, will pass around the lab information. So get started."

I internally groaned, having to work this lab by myself. Once I got the lab information, I glanced over it, groaning out loud this time, only to see it was a complex lab. So I took out a sheet of paper, writing down the materials and preparing the formal lab outline. My hands fumbled around the Bunsen burner, unsure how it was supposed to work. Freddie was the one who handled setting things up. It took me a good ten minutes, but I finally had the six test tubes set up, the Bunsen burner going, and two beakers patiently waiting with two equally patient pipettes.

Reading off the lab instructions, I pulled on a pair of goggles, then cautiously filled three of the test tubes with two-centimeters-deep ethanoic acid solution, and the other three with equal amounts of hydrochloric acid. I focused on writing down the procedure neatly and tried my hardest for the lab to stay as true to the instructions as possible.

The door to the classroom opened, causing me to look up, and there stood Freddie himself, handing his tardy slip to Ms. Waters. He half-smiled when he looked at me, and my stomach dropped. His left eye was swollen and deep blue, a white bandage holding together two opposite edges of a cut above his left eyebrow. A scabbed-over cut ran from the right corner of his lip to his mid-cheek. Pulling out his own chemistry notebook, he caught up with my pace in the lab without skipping a beat. I simply sat there, debating whether or not to call attention to his face. Luckily for me, he was the first to say something. "Miss me?"

I wanted to rip his face off for being so shockingly cavalier, but it seemed that someone had clearly beat me to it. So I batted my eyelashes sarcastically, and let out a sneer. "What, you were gone?"

"Took a personal day," He shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows, peering over to the lab outline to pick up where I left off. "You know, nothing major."

So I sweetly played along with his banter, brainstorming ways to appropriately address his face and his absence for the past two days. From the corner of my eyes, I scanned the rest of the classroom, all of them more interested in Freddie's face than their own lab, and I became angry. I had no clue where this anger came from, and I felt angry from being so angry. I mean, Freddie was _my _lab partner, _my _friend, so I had a right to know about what happened to him more than any other person in the room. Even more than Carly. And a lot of the anger was fueled by the fact that I felt like I had this right, and even then, he wasn't exactly quick to volunteer a story.

The muscles in my hand tensed from gripping my pen so tightly, and I frantically scribbled the results of whatever Freddie said happened. After everything that had happened between Freddie and me, I thought I'd be a little entitled to a part of his life, especially since I was suddenly in it three-fourths of the time. "-out like that?" I heard Freddie finish saying, tuning back into the real world.

"Huh?" I dropped my pen, flexing out my fingers from working so hard. "What'd you say?"

"I asked why you are zoning out like that," He repeated, his gaze unwavering away from mine. I only shrugged, letting out a breath that made my lips vibrate against each other. "Hm?"

As if my internal mental trance came to life, I took in another breath and simply narrowed my eyes at his injuries. "What happened to your face?" Before he could respond, I sharply added, "And no bullshit this time. You've been gone two days, and I know you box or something, and suddenly you come back, your face looking like hell. Tell me."

**Once upon a time, writing this chapter thoroughly destroyed me. The end.**

**So, this chapter sucks. 'nuff said. The majority of it, however, is based off of true stories that happened to me in the course of writing this chapter. For example, I split a toenail the other day and… holy crap, it is seriously the worst pain I've felt, **_**and **_**the pain keeps coming back until the toe is completely healed. And I know, I know, you're technically not supposed to land a jeté en pointé, or, at least that's what my ballet teachers have taught me, but I was always the type to push boundaries and break rules, and I figured, why shouldn't Sam be any different?(;**

**Hey, guess what! I made a twitter specifically for my writing! Whatttt? Hahaha, so follow me pleeease. I currently have no followers, so whoever is the very first will get a special prize or something(: haha, my twitter is sammypaigesays and I'll definitely follow you if you follow me, regardless of who you are. So yeah, do that.**

**Once again, I deeply apologize for the bullshitty-ness of this chapter, and ESPECIALLY THE DELAY. But tell you what. The next chapter will be up tonight, tomorrow, or next week, I promiseeeee, **_**and **_**it will be ridiculously better in quality and much more interesting and everything. But you gotta review, okay? **

**So yeah, read and review and enjoy and follow me(: seriously, I like follows(:**

**Love, forever and ever,**

**SammyPaige xoxxoxoxox**

**P.S., sorry about the cliff-hanger. I figured that could be the least I could do to make this chapter the slightest bit enticing. Next chapter will compensate, promise(:**

**P.P.S., I watched iLove You… I liked the ending, and am I the only one? I feel like Dan sort of forced the end of the relationship a little too much, but omfg, Freddie said I love you first! That is seriously all I've ever wanted!(: **


End file.
